


A Happy Ending (Maybe)

by MayaReidBarnes1917



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Boys In Love, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Returns, Civil War?, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Heavy Angst, I promise, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, What Civil War?, eventually, tags added as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-07 07:23:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6793159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayaReidBarnes1917/pseuds/MayaReidBarnes1917
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[***THIS STORY ON HIATUS***]</p>
<p>Taking a steadying breath, he shook his head to clear it. Brushing his long hair out of his eyes, he looked up at the large, illuminated A that graced the top of the tower. He might have holes in his memory, but he knew what would happen if he walked through those doors. There was no doubt he’d be recognized. He blinked, and for a second, his vision was obscured by the image of a familiar face with pale blue eyes and dirty blond hair. In the next second, it was gone. His breath caught as his mind connected the face with a name: Steve. Muddled as his memories were, there were flashes with that name, that face. He needed to know why. So, with his heart beating so fast he thought it might burst, he used the last of his strength to propel himself through the reflective glass doors and into the lobby of Avengers Tower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So in the aftermath of Civil War (which was AMAZING by the way! Even if it totally wrecked me...) I have decided to act like it never happened and write my own version where everybody's happy! OK maybe not so much of that, really... Anyways, this is non-Civil War compliant, however I may use some of the movie's ideas and details in this story. I will try my best to keep this updated weekly (fingers crossed). Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [***THIS STORY ON HIATUS***]
> 
> Taking a steadying breath, he shook his head to clear it. Brushing his long hair out of his eyes, he looked up at the large, illuminated A that graced the top of the tower. He might have holes in his memory, but he knew what would happen if he walked through those doors. There was no doubt he’d be recognized. He blinked, and for a second, his vision was obscured by the image of a familiar face with pale blue eyes and dirty blond hair. In the next second, it was gone. His breath caught as his mind connected the face with a name: Steve. Muddled as his memories were, there were flashes with that name, that face. He needed to know why. So, with his heart beating so fast he thought it might burst, he used the last of his strength to propel himself through the reflective glass doors and into the lobby of Avengers Tower.

The bright headlights of traffic and neon colored signs and billboards blinded him. The shouts and honking cars made him tense and jumpy. The exhaust fumes and smells from the stores and restaurants caused his nose to itch. The sheer amount of people all bustling from one place to the next meant that he felt as though there were eyes on him at all times. All this contributed to the brutal assault on his senses and left him feeling panicked and suffocated. But, he reminded himself, it was the best place to go unnoticed. Not that it made it much easier. 

Taking a steadying breath, he shook his head to clear it. Brushing his long hair out of his eyes, he looked up. He could see the outline of the building he sought and his stomach turned, nausea and nerves almost overcoming him. But while his mind faltered, his body didn’t. It continued to take step after step, carrying him ever closer to the thing he most dreaded and anticipated. He felt the exhaustion of running in his muscles, his very bones. His entire body ached. He couldn’t remember how long he’d been on the run anymore, just that he was tired of it. So tired of the hiding and the fighting and the mad scramble for control over his own mind. Just  _ so damn tired.  _

He almost kept walking when he reached his destination. Peering up at the large, illuminated A that graced the top of the tower, he hesitated. He might have holes in his memory the size of the Atlantic, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew what would happen if he walked through those doors. There was no doubt in hell he’d be recognized, though that wasn’t the part that sent chills down his spine. He was turning himself in, at their mercy. They’d lock him away. That is, if they didn’t kill him first. He knew it was the right thing to do, after everything. It was a small price to pay for the things he’d done. Hell, he thought, why not throw himself off one of these buildings, make it easier for them. Too bad he was too much of a coward to do it. 

The fear that coursed through his veins at the thought of what they might decide to do with him was almost enough to make him turn tail again. He blinked, and for a second, his vision was obscured by the image of a familiar face with pale blue eyes and dirty blond hair. In the next second, it was gone. His breath caught as his mind connected the face with a name: Steve.  _ Steve.  _ He knew Steve. Muddled as his memories were, there were flashes with that name, that face. He needed to know why. So, with his heart beating so fast he thought it might burst, he used the last of his strength to propel himself through the reflective glass doors and into the lobby of Avengers Tower.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized when I posted the prologue that I forgot to give credit to my beta and now I feel like shit. So here's a big shout-out to her! She's brilliant, go visit her tumblr: probatoon. (I'm so sorry I don't know how to put links).

The change was immediate. As soon as the door closed behind him, all the sounds of the busy city outside ceased and he was plunged into near silence, punctured only by the soft conversations of the people behind desks and the rustling of the magazines being read by the people sitting in waiting chairs. He didn’t know which was worse; the never-ending commotion, or the stale air of stillness inside the tower. For a second, he stood unnoticed. Then the woman behind the desk in front of him looked up with a pleasant and clearly practiced smile, beginning to welcome him, before the expression dropped off her face. 

The unconcealed fear in her eyes caused bile to rise in his throat. He hated when people looked at him like that. But why shouldn’t they? He was the monster under the bed, after all. The boogeyman in the closet. The woman frantically clawed at her desk for something, never risking taking her eyes off him, and he forced himself to stay still, even though every instinct was screaming at him to get the hell out of there as fast as possible, that this was a terrible idea and  _ what was he thinking?! _

He heard the click of a button as the woman found what she was looking for. Alarms blared from unseen speakers and he started, his stomach sinking further. There were small outcries of surprise and he guessed that he wasn’t the only one caught off guard. Men with guns and vests poured into the room, surrounding him and herding the civilians out. 

“Hands up!” He heard the command from somewhere behind him. Slowly, he raised his arms into the air, but when he felt the harsh grip of hands on his wrists, pulling them down, something snapped and he struck out. He swung back with his left elbow, hitting the man in the head and watching him go down. Suddenly, there were three more men at his sides and back, attempting to restrain him. The sound of guns being cocked filtered through his consciousness, but his body worked on autopilot, propelled by adrenaline and years of conditioning and training. 

He had taken two of the men down within seconds and had turned to the third when he heard a warning shot ring out. The piercing sound brought him back to himself and he froze, chest heaving. He swiveled to the source of the sound only to be met with the sight of a small but fierce looking woman with a shock of red hair. She held a pistol in hand and stood in a protective stance as though awaiting a fight.

“Stand down!” She called to the men. They complied. Something about this woman, her voice, her piercing eyes, seemed familiar. But as soon as he reached for the memory, it shied away from him. He let it. If there was one thing he’d learned from his brief time set free, it was that the more he fought to remember, the less came to him. Besides, he didn’t want to fight anymore. The woman seemed to sense a change in him and she relaxed her own stance.

“James," Her voice was softer now. “Do you recognize me?” There was something in her tone, a kind of sadness that she seemed to be trying hard to hold back. “ _ Kotenok." _ Like a spark had been lit behind his eyes, memories flashed through his mind, tumbling down on him.

“Natalia," He breathed, instantly relaxing. She meant him no harm. The redhead smiled. It was strange to see that kind of expression directed at him after so long.

“Yeah. It’s me," Natalia takes a cautious step forward, holstering her gun. “Sorry about them," She waved to the men around them. “But I bet you can understand their wariness."

He swallowed. “ _ Da," _ Nodding, Natalia moves so she’s standing mere feet from him, but he isn’t fooled into thinking it’s because she trusts him. More like she could hold him off in a fight just long enough for one of the guards to put a bullet through his brain.

“Why are you here?” Natalia asks. It’s a perfectly justified question, given that the last time they saw each other he tried to kill her, along with the fact that allowing himself to be found could end with him behind bars, or worse. He swallows, glancing at the guards around them. He grasps for something, anything. Why  _ is  _ he here? There are certainly plenty of reasons he could give her.

“I…” His brow creases in concentration. “I want to talk to  _ him _ ,” Even as his voice catches on the  _ want _ , he forces the words out. It’s so strange to be able to say that he wants something, and he flinches, expecting an attack.

“Okay,” Natalia’s voice is soft. “Okay. But first, we have a place for you to wash up, rest, eat. You look like shit," She attempts a light tone, but the joke falls flat. Instead, she motions to the elevator. With a glance around, he realizes that as much as it may be phrased as an invitation, an option, there’s not much he could do to say no. Besides, he needs answers, and this seemed a lot more enticing than willingly giving himself up to Hydra again. The guards move to let him through as he steps forward, Natalia falling in behind him. So she’s not stupid enough to turn her back to him, he thinks. Good. There may be at least one competent person in this tower. 

The doors close behind them with a soft  _ whoosh _ , leaving Natalia and him alone. 

“Floor 17, please," Natalia speaks to the silent air. He almost jumps a foot when a voice responds to her.

“Of course, Ms. Romanoff," There is a tinny edge to the voice that sets off alarm bells in his head. The only other voice he’s heard that sounded like that… He shivers, goosebumps racing across his skin. Noting his discomfort, Natalia tilts her head at him.

“It’s okay, that’s just Friday. She’s an artificial intelligence system created by Tony. Practically runs this tower," She says by way of explanation. After the initial panic passes, something clicks in his head.

“It called you  _ Romanoff," _ Not a question, but a demand for answers all the same.

“Yeah," Natalia fidgets slightly. “I had a lot of aliases back in the Red Room, you know that," He gave a small nod. “And when I got out of there, ‘Natalia Romanova’ just didn’t seem to fit anymore. So I chose a new name. It’s not too different. Natasha Romanoff." Cataloging this information in the back of his mind, he lets his eyes drift to study the red-haired woman standing next to him. Her hair is shorter than the last time he saw her, but her eyes are still the same startling shade of green, even if they were slightly more dulled from everything she had seen since. There was still a certain deadly confidence in the way she walked, the way she held herself, and when she spoke there was something about her that demanded your attention. He is pulled from his thoughts as the elevator stops and the doors open, depositing them on another floor.


	3. Chapter 2

Steve stares down at the mockingly blank page of his sketchbook, pencil threaded loosely through his fingers. Same as twenty minutes ago. Same as this morning. Same as yesterday and the day before. For the life of him, he can’t think of anything to draw. It’s strange. When he was a kid, he was always doodling on any scrap of paper he could find. Steve had piles of notebooks filled to the brim with drawings he did when he was sick. Even during the war, he could be found with some paper Bucky had managed to scrounge up for him. It didn’t matter if Steve had a proper pencil or a piece of coal from that night’s campfire.

The familiar movement always managed to calm him and take his focus away from the destruction and danger surrounding him. But now… nothing. The sketchbook sat as empty and blank as it had been when Sam had given it to him for his birthday two months ago. Sighing, he pushes the book away, tossing the pencil at the wall in frustration. 

He starts when his cellphone rings, pulling him out of his head. Part of him hopes it’s a mission call; he needs out of this damn apartment. Nat had convinced him to take a break from the leads on Bucky that seemed to go nowhere.  _ ‘He’s on the run. You won’t find him unless he wants to be found.’  _ And since SHIELD fell… well it wasn’t as if he were getting an abundance of calls from them. Grabbing the phone, he checks the ID. Natasha. He can’t help the flutter of hope that runs through him. Maybe she has a mission? A lead on their missing person’s case, as Sam had put it?

“Hey, Nat.”

“Steve,” At Natasha’s tone, Steve sits a little straighter. Something is wrong.

“What’s up?” Steve forces  himself to sound normal. If she’s in trouble, there’s no telling whether their conversation could be overheard. There’s a tense silence followed by resigned sigh.

“We found him,” The world seems to drop out from under him as Natasha’s words swirl in his head, and he’s throwing on his shoes before he manages to formulate a response.

“How?”

“Well, ‘found’ is a bit of an exaggeration. He waltzed into Avengers Tower last night asking to speak to you-”

“And you’re just calling me now?!” Anger boils in his stomach.

“He just walked in! Excuse me for wanting to make sure he wouldn’t flip out and try to kill you the moment he saw you, Steve!” The piercing bluntness she threw at him made Steve pause. He can’t blame her, not really. He probably would have done the same for her or any of the others.

“Okay,” Steve takes a deep breath to collect himself. “Okay. How is he?”

“Physically? He seems fine, a little malnourished. We gave him a place to clean up, eat, rest. Last I checked he was sleeping, albeit, not quietly,” Steve cringes at the insinuation of nightmares. He knows just how terrifying being left vulnerable to your own mind could be. “Mentally? I can’t even begin to guess. I only knew him in the Red Room, and by then he was already pretty messed up.” Nat’s voice lowers with a regretful ring. “After all this time…” 

“I’m on my way.”


End file.
